Poetry has become
the cliche of all cliches.
For most “poets”
writing has become an act
of masturbation,
a way to kill some time.
Anyone who dares
to ramble about
stupid shit
like love or hope
get’s thrown into the lion’s den.
Anyone who appreciates
the beauty of a river’s flow
or the symphonies
of chirping birds
is just full of shit.
Everyone “wanders
lonely like a cloud,”
So why the fuck
would you write about it.
It’s a waste of time
to spooge this onto
page
after page.
But I can’t stop.
And I never will.
James J Jackson 